Visiting Broadstairs is always a pleasure, because it’s like stepping back in time. While other British coastal resorts such as Brighton and Margate have busily sought to regenerate themselves, installing art galleries and gastropubs faster than you can lose a tenner in a seaside arcade, this sleepy town in South Thanet (the seat Ukip leader Nigel Farage is fighting to win on Thursday) exudes a distinctly laid-back, old-fashioned charm.

When my friend Matt and I arrive at 4pm on a sunny Saturday afternoon, virtually every shop is shut and the restaurant we’re dining in doesn’t open till six: something which prompts a heated, frank and meaningful debate over whether or not we should risk spoiling our appetites with an ice cream.

Restaurant 54 occupies a quaint corner building on Albion Street. Its white-framed windows are artfully frosted in places to hide the view of the car park opposite. When we walk in, the restaurant is empty – a cue for the average British diner to run screaming to the nearest takeaway. But owner Marion, an ex-Londoner whose husband, Joe, is the chef, kindly finds us a cosy corner where we don’t feel too awkward. Though you wouldn’t guess it from the outside, the restaurant is enormous: one of those historic buildings which has been split into a number of higgledy-piggledy rooms, all snaking back from the entrance.

Like Broadstairs itself, the restaurant has a slightly retro feel. There are white tablecloths, beige suede chairs and a soundtrack that seems to closely match my parents’ description of their wedding playlist. Matt is a little dubious – “It’s a bit like a place my nan likes to go,” he whispers, above the heartfelt strains of Barry Manilow’s Mandy – but I am quietly excited about the idea of eating dinner off proper white china instead of flower pots and bits of salvaged driftwood.

The prices aren’t cheap. At roughly £8 for a starter and mains hovering around the £17 mark, eating here is going to cost decidedly more than fish and chips on the beach. The wine list is reasonable, though, with decent bottles available for under £20; and I like the wine recommendations beside each dish on the menu.

A bright, fishy starter from Restaurant 54

Channelling Ukip’s proud yeoman spirit, I spurn fish from foreign waters to start with chilli-soused Kentish mackerel. Matt opts for a hot pork and cashew nut salad. I like the pretty pickled fennel and radish accompanying my fish, which has a good sweet-sour balance, but the dish isn’t quite as spicy as I’d hoped: the only serious wave of heat comes from the shreds of chilli on top. Matt’s “salad” is a genre-defying concoction of pork tenderloin, pancetta and chorizo, with a few token leaves of chard. We decide that the substitution of pork scratchings for the croutons that hackneyed tradition has led us to expect is a mark of genius and a gastronomic game-changer: it should become the standard for all salads hereafter.

For my main I order duck breast with twice-cooked chips, pak choi and a rhubarb and ginger purée. The duck is a little overcooked – there are only a few smidgens of pink – while something has clearly gone awry when twice-cooked chips are underdone. The rhubarb and ginger purée is a nice touch, and pleasingly tart, but the teeny-weeny duck roll that crowns that dish doesn’t justify its presence.

Matt’s main is better. His beef fillet is properly pink, the dauphinoise potatoes are indulgently oozy with cheese (“Too much cheese, do you think?” “No”) and the crispy, golden courgette chips put their pale tuberous cousins on my plate to shame.

The last rays of sun streaming through the window inspire me to go all-out tropical with the pudding, and I summon a lime and whisky posset, topped with caramelised pineapple and with coconut cookies on the side. Served in a martini glass, it’s refreshingly zingy, with chewy little shreds of lime zest suspended in the cream. Matt has a hefty wodge of chocolate and caramelised hazelnut cheesecake, which satisfies his sweet tooth, but is more mousse-like in texture than he expected: “I wouldn’t really have guessed it was cheesecake,” he says.

The chocolate and caramalized hazelnut cheesecake was more 'mousse-like' than expected

By the time we finish our meal, a few more diners have appeared, though the restaurant remains quiet for a Saturday night. An attempt to discuss the election with the waitress who clears our plates backfires spectacularly (“I have no idea who’ll win,” she says tartly. “I’ve been on holiday for two weeks”), but that’s a lesson in what happens when you try and nose out someone’s political affiliations while they’re busy trying to sweep breadcrumbs off your table.

The amount of work that goes into Restaurant 54’s menu is undeniable – every dish seems to involve MasterChef-worthy layers of detail, from homemade tomato pickles to nut brittle garnishes. And they’re clearly doing something right: it’s been going for nearly six years. But I can’t help but feel that the food doesn’t quite live up to its “Fayn Dayning” ambitions.

Bill settled, we step outside, where a few stubborn Brits are still resolutely sitting on the beach, despite the fact there’s now a definite chill in the air. Whatever May 7 might hold for South Thanet (and given it’s a three-way marginal, and historically a reliable bellwether for national poll results – and that Nigel Farage has said he will resign if he loses – it should be an interesting night, to say the least), some things here will clearly never change.